


Hero

by VCCV



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 02:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10732062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VCCV/pseuds/VCCV
Summary: Not every hero has a stunt double. Those are the best heroes.





	Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: sevfan and jameschick

He had never wanted so badly before for life to imitate television.

In television, the hero is never wounded beyond what can be healed by the next episode.

In television, injuries leave the hero visibly suffering, but at least recognizable.

In television, if the hero actually receives a wound bad enough to mar his features, and he finally catches a glimpse of his manly new scar, his brief moment of righteous anger always allows him to break the mirror on the first punch.

This was not television.

His wounds weren’t going to heal in a week. Hell, his wounds weren’t going to heal in a television season. Some, especially those that didn’t bleed, he feared were never going to heal at all.

His suffering was visible in the acres of bandages and gauze; in the raw flesh and the black sutures; in the haunted gaze that no longer met that of anyone who forced their way into his room.

His features? He still had two eyes—the 40% loss of acuity in his left one wasn’t readily visible, until he ran into whatever might jump out at him on his body’s left side… people, doors, walls. He still had two ears—well, one and a half until Carson deemed him healed enough for reconstructive surgery. He had a nose and a mouth, both of which were completely intact, though his burned and scarred left cheek tended to pull his mouth into a leftwards slant. Those burns and scars continued down the skin of his chest and his back, turning once smooth skin into something he was sure he’d only seen on Freddy Krueger. But, he had two arms and two legs, both of which worked just fine now that the pins were in them, and the flesh was growing over the new plastic parts that those pins held together.

And that fucking mirror…the Ancients might have had the decency to leave at least one thing that wouldn’t last for 10,000 goddamned years. Because now, he was pretty sure that he could add ‘potential broken hand’ to his list of things that couldn’t get any more fucked up.

“You feel better now?”

John flinched and ducked his head in reflex. “Fuck off, McKay,” he growled, trying to tug the collar of his shirt up a bit further.

Rodney snorted and pushed off the wall where he’d been leaning. “Because I’m pretty sure Carson is going to have your ass for dinner when he finds out that your temper means he has to change the report to read yet another broken bone.” He ignored John’s growling, slipping into the bathroom, and blocking John’s only exit. “Let me see what you’ve done to yourself, now.” He reached out to grasp John’s hand and missed as John jerked it away, tucking it up against his stomach.

He rolled his eyes and huffed. “Your tucking it up against your skin is going to warm the flesh up; what you need is an icepack to stop the swelling. Now stop being such a dick, and let me see if ice is going to be enough, or if I actually have to call Carson and rat you out.”

John glared up at Rodney, tilting his face to the left, as was becoming his habit to conceal the worst of his mutilated body. “It’s fine,” he mumbled. “I’ll run it under some cold water.”

Sighing and snagging John’s wrist, Rodney tugged to pull his hand out of its protective hiding. “Don’t be a moron,” he ordered. “And, for fuck’s sake, stop trying to hide from me!” He wrenched John’s wrist away roughly, but his touch gentled as he cradled the injured flesh in-between his own hands. “You don’t have to hide from any of us,” he added softly, “but most especially, you don’t ever have to hide from me.”

John cringed as Rodney ducked to capture his gaze, making sure to look first into his right eye so that John could verify his seriousness. Rodney smiled, a real smile, when he managed to force John to look back at him. “There you go,” he added, quiet pride in his voice. “Now, you go sit on the bed. I’m going to find one of those instant icepacks I know Carson sent along with you, and I’ll be over in a minute to make sure you use it.” He gently shoved John through the door, pushing him right so that his left side wouldn’t be in danger of hitting the frame.

John shambled over to his bed and slumped down on it, unable to generate the energy even to argue with Rodney over his bossy damn attitude. A moment later, Rodney was back, kneeling in front of him, pulling John’s hand into his lap and wrapping it up around an insta-ice pack. Rodney gave the wrap a final tug, and then lifted John’s hand up, and placed a reverent kiss in the center of its palm.

John couldn’t help the flinch, or the guilt that came after seeing what the flinch brought to Rodney’s face. “Sorry,” he murmured, avoiding the pain in Rodney’s eyes. “I—I just don’t understand why you still want to…” He trailed off, giving a shrug with his right shoulder.

“Why I still want to kiss you?” Rodney filled in, sadly. At John’s nod, he sighed and pushed John down onto the bed, slipping in beside him and wrapping John up in his arms. “Because I love you, idiot,” he finally answered, a fond amusement in his voice. “You were hurt. Burned and crushed and left stranded for hours. That makes you quite possibly the unluckiest bastard around, but it doesn’t make you any less loveable. Although, I think it might have given you some sort of brain damage,” he added, tapping John’s wrapped up hand.

“But I’m…” John tried to roll on his side, ostensibly to face Rodney, but he knew that Rodney would guess his ulterior motive was once again to try to cover up his freakish mutilations. Rodney wasn’t having any of that. He pinned John’s body still, and stared straight at the slanting lips, talking right into the ragged half ear.

“But you’re…still John Sheppard,” he supplied. “You’re still the man I fell in love with. You’re still the moron who can’t stop running full tilt at suicide missions and doomed rescues of natives intellectually far inferior to you.”

“It doesn’t matter how smart they are, Rodney,” John snapped, sudden anger giving life to his voice. “They don’t deserve to be Wraith food.”

Rodney smiled, smugly peaceful, and John realized he’d been played. “That’s why. Because you can’t help yourself, you always do the right thing, even when I think it’s the stupid thing. I’m constantly nagging you to take it easy and recuperate because I want to make sure you’re healthy enough to appreciate my bitching when I decide to go out to save the next batch of brainless natives. I don’t always understand your masochistic desire to save the universe at bodily risk to yourself, but I am proud of you. And I’m irrationally pleased that you came back to me.”

John sighed, giving up the battle and relaxing into the safety of Rodney’s arms. “But I didn’t come back in one piece, this time,” he said morosely.

“I hate that you hurt, John,” Rodney whispered into his ear. “I hate that you feel inferior now; that you feel ugly and marred. I hate that you can’t stand looking at yourself in the mirror. But I’m telling you, you don’t have to. Any of it. Do your physical therapy. Yes, it’ll hurt a bit now, but in the end, it’ll stop hurting a lot sooner than if you continue to avoid it. And you have no reason in hell to feel inferior; no one else in this galaxy could have done- would have done- what you did to get those people back.”

“Ah, but you can’t refute the ugly and marred part,” John said in feeble jest. Rodney poked him in his uninjured shoulder. “Do you think that your looks are what put you here in Atlantis? Or what keeps saving our collective asses whenever my gigantic brain needs its component brawn? Elizabeth doesn’t respect you for your cute ass.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Though she does tend to sneak sidelong glances at it when you’re bending over computer consoles.” His eyes narrowed. “That trampy little tart!”

“Rodney,” John warned.

“Yes, yes, fine,” he huffed. “She’s not a trampy little tart. But she does watch your ass. Your completely unharmed, perky, hard enough to bounce quarters off of ass.”

“Rodney!”

“Fine!”

“But you can’t think that Teyla’s friendship is reliant on your looks? Or that Ronon follows you around like a dredlocked Labrador because you’re pretty?”

“Right, they like me for my sparkling personality,” John snorted.

“No,” Rodney said with a smirk. “They like me for my sparkling personality. I’m almost positive they like you because you let Teyla beat you with sticks and Ronon win every time you go running. Don’t be a moron, John. And stop wallowing in self-pity.” John stared in bewildered confusion, and Rodney blushed. “Yeah, fine. I suppose you can do a little bit of wallowing. But really, you’re not exactly showing any consideration for our character. Give us a little bit of credit for having some depth. I don’t care what you look like, and neither does anyone else. We don’t like you, respect you, love you because of your looks. And frankly, I’m a bit insulted that you’d think so little of me!”

John looked like he couldn’t decide to be annoyed or guilty. Rodney leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on John’s lips, distracting him momentarily. “You don’t need good looks to be beautiful, John.” He grinned and reached up to run his fingers through the wisps of hair that were finally growing back. “I’ll bet that your mop comes back just like it was. And I’ll make sure that Carson adds that silly Spock point to your ear when he reconstructs it.”

John was baffled to find his lips turning up at the corners…even the left side. His right eye was suddenly as blurry as his left, and he blinked rapidly to avoid any unnecessary blows to his remaining shreds of dignity.

“And,” Rodney leaned down, his words mere breaths across John’s lips, “if you’re determined to see for yourself just how beautiful you still are, don’t bother with mirrors anymore. Just watch me, when I look at you.”

Fuck dignity.


End file.
